


A Different Kind of Complication

by Atisenia



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Humor, M/M, Magical Realism, Soulmates, Texting, Tumblr: letswritesherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-24
Updated: 2014-09-24
Packaged: 2018-02-18 15:58:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2354171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atisenia/pseuds/Atisenia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John started getting letters addressed to Sherlock Holmes, he had no idea that his life was about to change forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Different Kind of Complication

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Let's Write Sherlock's [Trope Bingo Challenge](http://letswritesherlock.tumblr.com/post/92844722125/challenge-15-trope-bingo-how-does-one-play). This is the Soul Mates trope from Card 4. It's quite possible that I won't be able to complete the bingo line on time but at least I'm being productive again.  
> Also, I'm not a native English speaker and this is not betaed, so if you see any unforgivable errors, just let me know.;)

The first letter came a couple of months after John moved into a surprisingly underpriced flat at Baker Street. He just got back from his dull work at the local clinic and sighed at the pile of letters waiting for him. Bills, maybe an ad or two. No one sent him letters anymore these days.

He made himself tea and sat in one of the armchairs in the living room, resting his leg. One of the envelopes caught his attention. It was addressed to his flat but the name was definitely not his. Sherlock Holmes, what a funny name.

He put that one aside and looked through the rest of his mail, wincing at the numbers. Maybe he should find himself a flatmate but he couldn’t think of anyone who’d want to live with a crippled veteran with vivid nightmares and a short temper.

John sighed, took the letter with the funny name and went downstairs to ask Mrs Hudson about it. She welcomed him with tea and biscuits, and too many stories about her late husband’s drug cartel.

“Yes, that’s very... unfortunate,” John said, not sure how to react. “Listen, Mrs H., I actually wanted to ask you something.” He put the letter on the kitchen table. “Do you know someone called Sherlock Holmes?”

Mrs Hudson took the letter and shook her head.

“No, I’m afraid not. Sorry, dear.”

“That’s okay. I thought maybe he was your last tenant or something. Probably just a mistake then.”

He soon forgot about the letter and the strange name.

 

~*~

 

The second letter came over a month after the first one. It was addressed again to John’s flat but with Sherlock Holmes as the recipient. It was a priority delivery, very official looking with no return address on it. John was in a bad mood, exhausted after another day at the clinic battling with the common cold and his own limp, so he tossed the letter to the coffee table and collapsed on the bed, his leg throbbing with phantom pain.

When he got up in the morning with a matching ache in his shoulder, he binned the letter without a second thought.

 

~*~

 

The package arrived when John was trying to get off with a pretty woman named Laura. She was smart and funny but still in love with her ex-boyfriend, which suited John just fine.

The doorbell rang just as they were kissing on the sofa and things were starting to get interesting. John cursed inwardly. With Mrs Hudson gone for the day, there was no one but him to open the door if the visitor didn’t decide to leave him alone.

Which they didn’t. They rang the doorbell again and again, successfully killing the mood. John grumbled on his way down the stairs, ready to slam the door in the visitor’s face. He didn’t expect to see a young postman with a huge, weirdly smelling package.

“Sherlock Holmes?” the boy asked. He held the package away from his body and tried not to look at it. John sympathised.

“No,” John groaned. “This Sherlock Holmes doesn’t live here.”

The boy frowned at his paperwork, then checked the address on the box.

“It is 221B Baker Street, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Yes. But I don’t know anyone with that name living here or... you know... I don’t actually know anyone with that name. There have been letters before too.”

“Um...” The boy bit his lip and sent the package an uncertain look. “Could you take the package though?”

“Could I— look, I’m kind of in the middle of something and I’m really not in the mood for mysterious packages—”

“No then?” John fixed the kid with a stern look. “Right, I’ll just give you a notice then and you can come and pick it up later.”

“It’s not my package!” John exclaimed, attracting the attention of a few passersby. “Can’t you just... write down a note that Sherlock Holmes doesn’t live here and leave me alone?”

“Sorry, sir. I just deliver. I got the address right, so if you have a complaint please visit the nearest post office.” He handed John the notice. “Goodbye.”

John did slam the door then and clenched his hand around his cane. He forced himself not to crumple the notice. Maybe it would be helpful in locating the idiot that kept giving people the wrong address. John went up the stairs to the flat where Laura had apparently helped herself to the rest of the wine and passed out on the sofa.

He was going to bloody murder Sherlock Holmes.

 

~*~

 

The trip to the post office didn’t solve anything.

“Are you sure, sir?” the worker asked him, frowning at his notice and ID.

“Pretty sure, yeah. I think I would notice if there was someone living with me. I’m not that daft.”

The woman pursed her lips with disapproval, which didn’t help John’s resolve to keep his cool.

“A former tenant, maybe?” she asked and sent him a nasty look.

He threw the documents at her.

“As you can see, Mrs Hudson has owned the building for nearly thirty years now, and she assures me there was no Sherlock Holmes living there.”

“Mmm...” The woman frowned at the paperwork. “And you’re sure you don’t know this Sherlock?” she asked. “One of your neighbours, maybe? It’s possible there’s just a slight error in the address.”

“And that’s my business how?” John snapped, then took a deep breath. “Sorry. But I really hope you’re not suggesting I should knock on every door at Baker Street and search for Sherlock Holmes.”

“You could, that would be nice.”

John blinked at her.

“Right now, I’m not feeling particularly _nice_ towards Sherlock Holmes,” he said. He was also feeling less than nice things for _her_ but decided to keep that to himself.

The woman sighed dramatically, as if she was dealing with a stubborn child.

“We’ll return the package to the sender then,” she said with a grimace.

“Yeah, and add a note that they got the wrong address,” John said, earning himself a glare. “By the way, do you happen to know what happened to _my_ package? It should have arrived by now.”

The woman grimaced again but started going through her paperwork at a pace of a snail. She must have found what she was looking for because she raised her eyebrows at him.

“It says here the package was delivered,” she said.

John blinked at her, decided it was not worth the fight and sent her a fake smile.

“Right. Okay.” He took a deep breath, snatched his ID and turned around. “Afternoon!”

He limped out of the building before he could start punching walls.

 

~*~

 

“Oh, for—” John sighed when he saw the already familiar strange name on yet another letter among his stack of envelopes. “That’s it,” he said and opened his laptop. He would find the git and use a couple of choice words to make them reconsider their life choices. And with a silly name like Sherlock, they shouldn’t be hard to find.

Except, there was no Sherlock Holmes anywhere at all. No Sherlocks for that matter. Not on social media, not in the news, not even one bloody mention.

“Well, that’s... unexpected,” John murmured and took the letter again. He glanced at the sender’s name and his eyebrows went high up. “Huh. Look at that.”

He searched for his phone and made a call.

 

~*~

 

John tapped his fingers impatiently on the table and looked at his watch again, making a show of it so that the waiter, who clearly had nothing better to do, would stop glaring at him. John really should have planned this better. Take a bloody umbrella for once. But no, his leg hurt like hell so _of course_ he decided to take a walk just to prove it wrong. Which, obviously, he didn’t. He looked down at his cane, offended by its very existence.

The door to the cafe opened and John sighed with relief when he recognized the newcomer. Right on time.

“Mike, hey,” he said, already motioning to the chair in front of him. The waiter continued his glaring.

“John Watson!” Mike said with a smile that lit up his round face. “Long time no see.” Mike took a seat and eyed John critically. “Waiting here long then?”

John smiled and shook his head. After all, it wasn’t Mike’s fault that John wasted two hours just because he was a stubborn idiot. John blamed Sherlock Holmes for that too.

“You working at Bart’s now?” John asked and finally called the waiter again.

“Oh yeah, teaching,” Mike said. “They’re all sneaky bastards, if you ask me.”

John snorted.

“So no change there then?”

They ordered coffee and something to eat, and engaged in some small talk, passed stories back and forth. Finally, Mike set his pastry fork down and looked at John with new focus.

“So, what was it you wanted to talk about?” he asked.

John looked at him for a moment, then nodded to himself and took out a folded envelope. He gave it to Mike who inspected it curiously.

“Okay, I don’t follow,” Mike said and looked back up at John. “Where did you get this?”

“Well, that’s the thing,” John said. “It was delivered to my address, which is, by the way, the address on the envelope.” He waited until Mike acknowledged this. “And it’s not the first time it happened since I moved in. There was this package and it looked... well, never mind. I just— it’s bloody annoying, so when I saw your name, I thought you could pass the letter on. Personally, I mean, sorry it didn’t reach this Sherlock like it was meant to. And please add a note about giving people the right address for a change. That would be nice, too.”

“Yeah, sorry mate,” Mike said, putting the letter in his jacket pocket. “I should have known better than believe Sherlock Holmes and his word.”

His. All right then. That’s one question answered.

“Who is he then?” John asked.

Mike smiled enigmatically.

“It’s rather difficult to describe Sherlock Holmes if you’ve never met him,” he said. At John’s questioning look, he added, “he’s intense.”

“Okay,” John said with a frown.

“And he’s bloody clever, which I guess makes sense since he’s a detective.”

“He’s from Scotland Yard?”

“No. Consulting detective, whatever that may be. He works with the police sometimes though, when they have ‘interesting cases’ for him.”

“Huh.” John blinked at this new piece of information and then nodded. “Seems a bit weird then, right? Giving the wrong address to potential clients,” he said. “I guess it makes sense he’s not on the internet though. Better if no one recognizes him.”

Mike frowned.

“What do you mean he’s not on the internet? He has a website.”

“Um, no,” John said, now really confused. “I looked him up and there was no trace of a Sherlock Holmes. Or anyone called Sherlock, actually. Which is understandable, I suppose. It’s a ridiculous name.”

Mike snorted.

“Sort of, yeah,” he said. “But he’s ridiculous himself, so it rather suits him.”

“Mmm...”

They drank the rest of their coffee in silence and ventured the world outside. It finally stopped raining but that little fact didn’t stop John’s leg from hurting.

“Maybe you just missed the website,” Mike said. “It’s called _The Science of Deduction_. Maybe that will help.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

They changed the subject until it was time to separate.

 

~*~

 

There was a stain on the living room wall that appeared overnight. It wasn’t there when John went to bed but it glared at him now. It also didn’t want to come out. John could already see Mrs Hudson’s disapproving look and should probably say goodbye to his deposit. Even if he didn’t consciously do anything to contribute to the new decor.

He swept over the stain once again but it just seemed to grow more visible instead of disappearing. John sighed and wrote it off as a lost cause.

The doorbell rang and John groaned. He wasn’t in the mood for company right now and maybe he could ignore whoever was at the door. He didn’t fancy another meeting with misdirected post.

He cursed when he heard Mrs Hudson’s voice inviting the guest in and directing him upstairs. He threw the sponge into the bucket and went to open the door.

“Oh, hello John,” Mike said from the landing and beamed at him. “Mind if I come in for a sec?”

Yes, John wanted to say. He had a free afternoon and was planning on cleaning his gun again. In quiet. Alone. Maybe finally find a shooting range. Or just stay at home and watch an action movie, and wallow in self-pity.

He was forced to be sociable instead.

“Come in, come in,” he said with a plastered smile and stepped back to let Mike in. “Tea?”

“Please.”

John nodded and went to switch the kettle on. When he came back to the living room, he found Mike studying the stain on the wall.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” John said, trying not to grimace as the tray he held in one hand shook over the coffee table. He gripped his cane and wished it broke in two. “I’m trying to remove it.”

“Interesting shape,” Mike said, only just looking at John’s efforts and rushing to help. “Why the smiley face?”

“What?” John snapped and then stared at the stain. It was even more visible now, a large, round, yellowish shape. “It’s a smiley face,” John said, shocked. “Bloody hell.”

It would seem even the walls in his flat mocked him now. A soldier with shaking hands. A doctor with imaginary wounds. What a joke.

“Um... John?” Mike waved a hand in front of him.

“Yeah, sorry. Just... let’s sit.”

The sofa was thankfully facing the stainless part of the room. It was then easy for John to pretend the face didn’t exist and simply sip his tea.

“Did you want something?” he asked Mike.

“Yes, actually.” Mike helped himself to a biscuit. “I gave Sherlock your letter and he gave me this.”

He pulled two folded envelopes out of his jacket pocket and handed them over. John stared at his name and address written on both of them.

“What—” he cleared his throat. “I don’t— They’re open,” he said, turning the envelopes and glaring at Mike who only shrugged.

“Yeah, sorry,” he said. “Sherlock’s a nosy git with no sense of boundaries. He said there was a package too but — and I quote — ‘the contents proved extremely useful’, so he decided to keep it.”

“Right,” John said, trying to control his temper. “I ordered medical supplies.”

Mike shrugged again.

“He gets injured a lot on cases, so I guess he really _did_ find it useful,” he said. “Not that I approve.”

“Mmm...” John looked down at the letters. “But how did he get them? The address is correct, so they should have delivered the letters to me.” He frowned. “Did he steal them?”

“That’s just it,” Mike said and his eyes sparkled with curiosity. “He absolutely swears that he lives at 221B Baker Street, too. The letters were delivered to him.”

John blinked.

“That’s not possible,” he said.

“I admit I decided to visit you just to see which one of you is right.”

John smirked.

“Now you’ll have to follow him home,” he said. “Let me know when you find out his address.”

Mike smiled at him in a disconcerting manner, as if he knew something John didn’t.

“I gotta go,” he said before John could ask more questions. “Papers to grade and all that.”

John frowned at him but found himself nodding.

“Yeah, okay,” he said, still clutching the letters. “Give my best to Hannah.”

When Mike left, John felt the mocking stare of the wall on his back.

“What are you looking at?” he asked, annoyed, and tossed the letters on the desk.

 

~*~

 

There was a folded piece of paper tucked into one of the misdirected ads. John only noticed it a few days after Mike’s visit when he finally looked at the letters. It was a handwritten note signed by none other than Sherlock Holmes. It said:

 

_Doctor Watson,_

_You are a medical man and, therefore, a scientist of sorts. You would agree then that persisting in an erroneous opinion or actually presenting it as a fact can have damaging consequences. What’s more, stealing someone else’s post and giving people the wrong address is not enough to prove that you actually live in the place that you claim you do. I have the word of my landlady (Mrs Turner if you decide to further investigate), the contract I signed, the building’s records and the number on the door to prove me right. What’s your excuse?_

_I would send some customary regards but idiocy must not be encouraged in any way, shape or form._

_Sherlock Holmes_

 

“Well then,” John said to himself and started writing on the back of the note.

 

~*~

 

There was no trace of a website called _The Science of Deduction_ anywhere on the internet. Pity, really. John would very much like the chance to mock at it.

 

~*~

 

“Mrs Hudson?” John started one day when a nagging thought made him venture downstairs again.

“Yes, dear?” She smiled at him over her teacup.

“That friend of yours, the one you play bridge with, that’s Mrs Turner, yes?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Mrs Hudson said and frowned at him. “But you already knew that.”

“Yes. Yes, just... does she have any tenants then?”

Mrs Hudson fixed him with a look.

“John, do you want to move out?” she asked. “Because you know I need at least a month’s notice, dear, that’s—”

“No, Mrs Hudson, I’m just curious. I promise.”

Mrs Hudson levelled him with another searching gaze but eventually let it go.

“Yes, she does, actually,” she said. “A lovely couple of boys. Married,” she added in a hushed tone and with a knowing look.

“Oh, right,” John said. “And is one of them a detective by any chance? Sherlock Holmes?”

Mrs Hudson’s expression gained a worried edge and she squeezed his hand.

“John, are you feeling quite all right, dear? I’ve already told you I don’t know any Sherlock Holmes.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. I just— It would explain a lot actually.”

Mrs Hudson smiled at him and squeezed his hand.

“Whatever it is that’s got you all worried, you’ll figure it out, you’ll see.”

 

~*~

 

The first text arrived not very long after he gave Mike his reply — with photos and everything — to pass it on. The text just said, _Wrong. —SH_. John knew who it was from at once. He felt rather annoyed — at Mike for giving the git John’s number without permission, at Sherlock for raising their disagreement to the next level and at himself for not thinking of doing just that earlier.

He was about to reply when his phone chimed two times in a quick succession.

_Obviously we cannot both live in the same place without being aware of the other’s existence. And I think you’d appreciate that I give you and your capacity for observation the benefit of a doubt. I, at least, would certainly notice if someone else was living in my flat. —SH_

_I feel I must congratulate you then on a perfectly executed breaking and entering. —SH_

“What?” John said to the room at large, frowning at the screen. He was trying very hard to pretend he was not amused by the texts. He should be furious. Or annoyed. Why wasn’t he annoyed?

His phone chimed again.

_I’m sure Mike told you that I’m a detective. Most break-ins are performed by idiots who can’t cover their tracks properly. —SH_

_Most times, they’re not even trying. —SH_

_The fact that you came into my flat (mid-afternoon, judging by the angle of the light in the pictures), cleaned it for some obscure reason just to take photos (is that supposed to convince me?), left a few foreign items in the living room (still not enough), and then left everything exactly the way you found it so that even I couldn’t tell the difference is slightly impressive. If you wanted to get my attention though, you could have directed your efforts into committing a crime I would actually enjoy solving. Think it through next time. —SH_

_So, well done, but you are still wrong. —SH_

John was openly smiling by now, which probably spoke a lot about his own state of mind. It was mostly tinged with disbelief because, honestly, how ridiculous was this? There were so many things that needed addressing — like this breaking in business, for example — but in the end, what John texted back was, _Do you always sign your texts?_

He didn’t have to wait long for a reply.

_Seriously? I just accused you of breaking into my flat and you want to know if I always sign my texts? —SH_

John thought about it for a moment. It did sound absolutely ridiculous. And yet...

 _Yes_ , he wrote. _I think so. Do you, then?_

_Yes. —SH_

At this, John chuckled, surprising even himself, and pressed the dial button. The call was promptly disconnected and followed by another message.

_I prefer to text. —SH_

“Okay then,” John said, still smiling, and started composing a reply.

He couldn’t remember the last time he was this amused.

 

~*~

 

Sherlock Holmes turned out to be a charming arsehole, and a clever one at that. They continued their conversation via text messages well into the night but didn’t manage to come up with a sufficient method to prove which one of them really lived in the place they claimed to. The contracts could have been forged, the pictures taken at some other time and the fact that they both claimed Mike Stamford paid them a visit at the disputed address proved absolutely nothing until they could ask Mike about it.

It was still an entertaining conversation and John was hooked.

_So you are sure you’re sitting on the sofa now? —SH_

_Yes, quite sure. And the coffee table is right in front of me. I thought we discussed the layout already?_

_We did. —SH_

_I am merely asking because I am also sitting on the sofa and I neither see nor feel your presence in any way at all. —SH_

_Neither do I._

_So this was pointless. —SH_

_Sherlock, we already knew we couldn’t possibly be in the same place at once. Of course it was pointless._

There was a pause in a steady flow of text messages and John could almost feel the waves of frustration coming from the other man. Then his phone chimed again. Repeatedly.

_We should meet. —SH_

_Not in the flat. Obviously. Somewhere else. —SH_

_Then we’ll go to 221B Baker Street together and see who was right. —SH_

_I promise I won’t turn you in for breaking and entering. —SH_

John snorted at that last one. The plan sounded reasonable and promised to solve their little problem once and for all. John could only hope that Sherlock wouldn’t cut John out after that. He was enjoying himself and already felt a weird connection with this stranger.

 _Ok_ , he texted. _Whatever you need._

_See you in 15 minutes at the entrance to Regent’s Park. —SH_

_What, now? Sherlock, it’s 3am!_

_So? —SH_

_So I have work in the morning and only four hours left to sleep._

_Ah, sleep. Sleeping’s boring. —SH_

John shook his head.

_Maybe. But if I fall asleep at the surgery, it will be even more boring for me because they will fire me so much then._

_Can you fire someone a little? —SH_

_Shut up. Wait until I finish my shift and we can walk back together from the clinic. I’ll text you the details._

_Oh, fine. —SH_

John smiled. He was pretty sure that was a pouting text.

 _Goodnight, Sherlock_ , he wrote and left his phone on the bedside table before going to the bathroom.

He was already fast asleep when his phone chimed with another text.

_Goodnight. —SH_

~*~

 

John had trouble focusing on his work. He nearly prescribed anticoagulants for high pressure and only managed not to spill coffee on his boss because he’d already drunk most of it. He felt nervous, though there was no reason he should be. He only just started talking with Sherlock, why would he care? And yet after John texted him the address and the time his shift ended, he left his phone on his desk, constantly checking it for texts and the time.

John left as fast as his leg would allow him when he was finally finished. He made a show of being in a hurry and, thankfully, no one stopped him for a chat. He left the clinic and looked around. There was no one there waiting for him though, and the few people who passed John by sent him suspicious glances.

He waited fifteen minutes by the door, earning himself more glances from his co-workers and the passersby. There was still no sign of Sherlock.

His phone chimed and he let out a relieved sigh.

“Oh, thank God,” he said but the text made him frown.

_Running late? You should have texted. I hate waiting. —SH_

John looked around, then limped down the street and back, and then inspected the nearest alleys. No Sherlock.

 _Where are you?_ he texted.

_In front of the clinic. Waiting. —SH_

That made no sense at all. John hesitated for a second, then pressed the call button. This time Sherlock answered.

“John?” The deep voice on the other side startled John. He didn’t expect that. He didn’t know what he expected. “John, where are you?”

“I’m... I’m in front of the clinic, too. There’s a bakery on the other side of the street, and a newsagent’s.”

The silence on the other side of the phone was pretty unnerving. John was about to say something when he heard a woman that was just passing him by from two sources at once. Sherlock must have heard her too. He had to be very close to capture the same part of her conversation, but John still couldn’t see him.

“Interesting,” Sherlock said.

“What’s going on, Sherlock? I don’t understand.”

Another moment of silence passed and John could hear the same street noises from both ends of the call. He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath.

“Would you wait here a moment?” Sherlock asked. “I’ll try talking to someone.”

“Yeah, okay.”

They disconnected and John could only stand where he was and stare at his phone. The people passing him by grumbled something about blocking the way but he didn’t care. This whole situation didn’t make any sense. They were both in the same place so why couldn’t they see each other?

When his phone went off, he took the call immediately.

“So?” he asked. There was more silence on the other side, this time hesitant. “Sherlock?”

“You don’t work here,” Sherlock said and his voice sounded both excited and wary.

“What? Of course I do!”

“I just spoke with the receptionist. Never heard of you.”

“But...” John tried to think of something to say but found his mind blank. Lisa was always fun to be around and she was the best source of office gossip. She also knew everyone’s schedule and was quick to arrange any required substitution. It was impossible that she didn’t know John’s name. “But I do work here, Sherlock!” he protested weakly, trying to keep the panic at bay.

“I believe you,” Sherlock said and some of the weight lifted from John’s chest. “John, I think we might both actually live in the same place after all.”

John blinked owlishly several times and cursed, very eloquently.

“Fuck!”

 

~*~

 

They called each other on Skype — first to know if they could and then out of convenience. John’s first look at Sherlock was rather a shock, though maybe it shouldn’t have been. The man looked alien, which seemed fitting, and his eyes looked like they could scan John’s mind. John wouldn’t be surprised if they _could._

“What’s going on, Sherlock?” John asked.

Sherlock looked lost in thought, sitting on the same sofa John was sitting on with the exact same wallpaper behind both of them.

“How is this happening?”

“I’ve no idea,” Sherlock said. “Well, no. That’s a lie. I have _four_ ideas but nothing conclusive.”

John blinked at him.

“ _Four_ ideas?”

“Yes. A practical joke — which is still a possibility though it’s not very probable. A coma. Some sort of an afterlife. Parallel universes.”

“You’re serious?” To John all of these options sounded like something from a movie. This sort of things didn’t happen in real life.

“Or possibly mental illness, strong narcotics or a very vivid dream, which would make, oh, _seven_ possibilities.”

“It doesn’t seem like a dream,” John said.

“No. And drug-induced hallucinations don’t feel that way either.”

“So that’s probably not—” John mused, then looked sharply at Sherlock. “Hang on! How do you—”

“Never mind that,” Sherlock quickly interrupted. John pursed his lips and crossed his arms but refrained from commenting. For now. “I still think parallel universes is the most probable solution.”

“Sorry, what? The _most_ probable?”

“Yes, assuming you didn’t go to all the trouble of finding a perfect replica of my flat just to play a joke on me.”

“We already covered this...” John said and massaged his temples. He could feel the beginnings of a headache there.

“Do you fancy being in a coma, mentally ill or just dead?” Sherlock asked.

“Not really.”

“Parallel universes it is then,” Sherlock said and nodded to himself. Then he grimaced. “I’ll have to brush up on quantum physics.” He started searching something on his phone.

John snorted.

“Yeah, good luck with that,” he said. “Only you could find a way to be brilliant in more than one world.”

Sherlock stopped scrolling through his phone and looked at the computer screen. He blinked several times, then frowned.

“You think I’m brilliant?” he asked.

John shot him a confused look.

“Of course,” he said. “Of course I do.”

A small smile slowly appeared on Sherlock’s face. They looked at each other in silence from behind their computer screens and John’s blood sang in his veins. Sherlock sobered up first and shook his head.

“The parallel universes theory makes the most sense,” he said and ruffled his hair which John found strangely distracting. “It would explain why no one here knows you.”

John’s eyes went wide.

“Sherlock...” he breathed.

“Mmm?”

“Someone knows me.”

He watched Sherlock’s eyes widen with realization.

“Oh.”

 

~*~

 

The door to the pub opened and John looked up to see who just entered. Confused eyes blinked at him from a very-not-Mike, very _female_ face and he smiled apologetically. The woman — a pretty redhead in a long skirt — scoffed and found herself a place far away from John’s booth.

His phone chimed.

_Relax. You’re far too obvious. —SH_

“Yes, thank you, genius,” he murmured and sent a reply.

_It won’t work._

_It will. —SH_

_He won’t be able to keep up the act with both of us here and then we’ll have our answers. —SH_

John sighed. Seemed like such an easy plan but how could anything be easy when they were dealing with _parallel universes_?

_You realize we still won’t be able to see or hear each other?_

_Mmm... We should have organized a video conference instead. This was very badly planned. —SH_

John snorted and shook his head.

_You planned it, Sherlock!! But, in your defence, there’s little precedence for interdimensional meetings._

It took a while before his phone chimed again.

_We’ll make do. —SH_

_And I will write a study on interdimensional encounters when we’re done. —SH_

John smiled at his phone.

“Something funny?” a familiar friendly voice asked from beside him. John looked up to see Mike beaming at him. “Or a secret lady friend I know nothing about?” Mike winked at him and sat in front of John.

“She must be a great secret because even _I_ don’t know her,” John said and put the phone on the table. “Hello, Mike.”

“Hi, John,” Mike said with a smile. “How’s life?”

That question surprised a laugh out of John.

“It’s... interesting,” he said.

“Well, that’s always good.”

They chatted about football and Mike’s family, and the good old days. John relaxed slightly, feeling as if they really just met for a pint. That is, until Mike tensed mid sentence and his eyes went wide.

“Mike? What’s wrong?” John asked, following the script. “Mike?”

“No, I’m sorry, I have to go.” He made a move to stand but something seemed to change his mind and he slumped in his seat, casting nervous glances between John and an empty space beside him. John almost felt sorry for him.

He wanted to know the truth more.

“Sorry about this,” John said with an apologetic smile.

“About what?” Mike sent him a panicked look.

John was about to reply when his phone chimed with an incoming call. He glanced at the screen, hesitated for a split second and put it on speaker.

“What John probably means to say,” a deep voice announced, “is that we’re sorry for the ambush.”

“Yeah. Though we’re really not _that_ sorry.”

“We want answers.”

Mike blinked at them and started giggling. It was a nervous laugh, verging on hysteric.

“I am so screwed,” Mike finally said. “Should have known better than to try and outsmart you two.”

“Please,” Sherlock sneered.

“Behave,” John said, amused. “If you didn’t want us to join forces, you shouldn’t have given Sherlock my phone number.”

“I didn’t,” Mike said and shook his head with a small smile.

“Um... John...” Sherlock started and cleared his throat.

“Oh, you stole it,” John huffed. “Well, clever you.”

He should be annoyed but he didn’t really care that much. Maybe if he didn’t like Sherlock so much, it would be different.

“To be clear, I always meant for you two to meet,” Mike said. “We were just going to... ease your way first.”

“Ease our way?” John asked at the same time Sherlock said, “We? Who’s we?”

Mike looked from John to the space beside him, which was where Sherlock presumably sat.

“Right. Can we talk somewhere private?” Mike asked. “Baker Street maybe?”

“Which one?” Sherlock asked. Mike pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You know it’ll be both for me,” he said. “And you’ve obviously found a way to communicate with each other, so I can have this conversation with both of you instead of sitting there and feeling like a translator. Thank God for small mercies.”

They disconnected their phones and started for Baker Street. The air around them was charged with anticipation that seemed to transpire through dimensions.

They entered the flat and John went straight for his computer. He knew Sherlock would do the same on his end. One look at Mike’s awed face was enough to convince him of it.

“Unbelievable,” Mike muttered and collapsed on the sofa.

John’s laptop finally powered up and as soon as the internet connected, he got a call from Sherlock.

“You really need a new computer,” Sherlock said with impatience.

“Yeah, I really need to pay the rent too, you know,” John said and crossed his arms.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“I am so, _so_ in trouble,” Mike whined and covered his face with his hands.

John exchanged glances with Sherlock and carried the laptop to the sofa. Sherlock did the same on his end. Mike blinked at them, then at the computers.

“This is so weird. You sit in the same place and the computers are also in the same place and it’s like a weird giant hybrid.”

“Then take a chair and sit by the desk and John will take your place,” Sherlock said impatiently.

“Why do _I_ have to move?” John asked but moved on the sofa to take the place Mike hurriedly left.

“You’re left-handed,” Sherlock said. “I’m sure sitting on the left is more comfortable for you.”

John rolled his eyes.

“That’s bullshit. You’re just lazy,” he said.

“As much as I’d love to continue with this conversation, I believe we have more important matters to attend. Don’t you?”

“Yeah, all right. Mike?”

The man in question looked torn somewhere between fascination and a desire to escape. He muttered to himself and cleared his throat.

“Whatever. They’ll kick me out anyway,” he said. “You are familiar with Plato’s thoughts on souls?”

“Yes,” John said at the same time as Sherlock said, “no.”

John frowned at him.

“Philosophy, Sherlock.”

“And souls. Deleted. But do go on.”

They both looked at Mike who looked about ready to bang his head on the desk.

“No, never mind then,” he said. “He wasn’t quite right after all. But there’s _something_ true about his ideas. The point is—”

“Oh, good, _finally_!” Sherlock said. John fixed him with a look.

“Some people are simply destined to meet and if there are complications, people like me help them along,” Mike explained, undeterred.

“Complications?” John asked.

“Yeah, you know. Different countries, different languages, cultures, social positions if it matters, oppressive regimes, that sort of thing. Of course, _you two_ had to exist in different universes. No biggie.”

“Ha!” Sherlock said and smiled like a very satisfied cat. “Told you.”

“Yeah, you did,” John said with a fond smile. “Very clever of you, Sherlock.”

Sherlock preened after the praise, as he always did, and they looked at each other with matching grins until Mike huffed in the background.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said. “Barely believed it when they told me you two had a bond, but now—”

“Bond?” Sherlock interrupted with a sceptical tone. “I let the bit about destiny slide but this is just preposterous.”

“More than parallel universes?” John asked with raised eyebrows. Sherlock pouted. “But yeah, explain that bit, Mike.”

“I’ve walked right into that one, haven’t I?” Mike sighed. “Fine. Short story: you’re soul mates.”

John blinked, then looked at Sherlock. When he saw the detective’s stricken expression, he started to laugh and Sherlock, thankfully, followed.

“Soul mates _how_?” John asked when he managed to get himself under control.

Mike shrugged.

“However you want, I guess,” he said. “We bring people like you together and then let them decide what to do about it.”

“People like us?” Sherlock asked. “And we, who’s we? An organization? What?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“But I want to know!” Sherlock pouted. If they were in the same universe, John would be tempted to ruffle his hair.

“That’s just it: you’re not supposed to,” Mike said. “That’s why I’m gonna be in trouble when the bosses find out.”

“We already know some things, why can’t you tell us the rest?” Sherlock muttered.

“And what does it matter if we know?” John asked. “From what you told us, we were always going to meet.”

“Yes, but not like this.” Mike sighed. “Look, if you lived in the same universe, I would have introduced you two and left you to your own devices. But we’re talking about parallel universes, we have to allow a part of one universe to merge with another. And for that, we need a connection. That’s why you’re both living at Baker Street. When John phoned me about the letters, I knew it was beginning to work and I was going to let it develop naturally. I should have remembered who I was dealing with.”

“So now we just... what? Wait?” John asked.

“There must be a way to speed things up,” Sherlock said.

“No, you wait,” Mike said. “If you know what’s good for you. I can’t make you forget what you already know but I _can_ separate you permanently, so don’t do anything stupid.”

And with that, Mike left the flat with a quick “goodbye”. Both Sherlock and John watched him go, stunned, and then looked at each other hesitantly.

“Do you think he would do that?” John asked, a sudden panic twisting in his stomach.

“I don’t want to find out,” Sherlock said. John thought he saw a corresponding unease in the other man’s expression. Then Sherlock smiled. “I told you your limp was psychosomatic.”

“What?” John blinked at him with confusion.

“You left your cane at the pub and you haven’t needed it since.”

John looked around the flat as if he expected to see the cane somewhere anyway. He wouldn’t just forget about it, would he? But there was no trace of it anywhere.

“How do you know?” he asked, amazed.

“Well, now I can see you but we set a fast pace walking home from that pub and you wouldn’t have been able to keep up if you had a limp. And Mike didn’t stop once to wait for you. Simple.”

John grinned.

 

~*~

 

A week after the conversation with Mike, Sherlock took John to a crime scene. Well, he took a laptop and hacked into the victim’s Wi-Fi. John couldn’t decide if it was more adorable or morbid, which was probably a bit not good.

He met Lestrade and made it his duty to let the man know how much they both appreciated that he let John examine the body. John didn’t find anything Sherlock hadn’t already discovered but the long brilliant series of deductions that followed was definitely worth the trouble. John was shocked and amazed after seeing Sherlock put his skills to use like that and he tried not to show how disappointed he was that he couldn’t be there for the stakeout and the chase.

After they caught the killer, Sherlock skyped him with a smile so pleased and radiant that John’s heart skipped a beat.

He was in trouble.

 

~*~

 

The next weeks didn’t help John deal with his silly infatuation. If anything, he grew even fonder of Sherlock. There were times when he thought he had it under control but then a smile, a look or an exceptionally brilliant deduction would prove him wrong.

Maybe there was something to this soul mates idea.

He couldn’t tell how Sherlock felt about all of it though. He always seemed excited when they skyped (if he wasn’t currently in a dark caseless mood) but it could easily be caused by the challenge that their situation offered him. Even if he liked John, there was probably nothing more to it.

So John kept his growing feelings carefully hidden and dreaded the moment when Sherlock — the master of observation — would notice. Since he met Sherlock, John started seeing life in brighter colours where there had only been pastels before. He wanted to keep it like that for as long as possible.

“John!” Sherlock said in an impatient tone that probably meant it wasn’t the first time he tried to get John’s attention.

“Sorry,” John said. “What was it?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and leaned forward to share his findings with John when a new voice sounded in the background and made John freeze.

“Sherlock, dear, have you eaten anything?”

Sherlock grunted but when he replied, there was a fond note in his voice.

“Yes, Mrs Turner, now stop bothering me,” he called.

The woman didn’t give up so easily.

“I’ll know if you didn’t, young man!” she said. “I’ll make you some supper, just this time, mind. And I won’t hesitate to force feed you.”

Sherlock scowled in the direction of the kitchen and muttered something to himself. John took a deep breath and started typing.

_Write only for now. Don’t mention my name. I’ll explain._

Sherlock frowned at him but complied.

_John?_

_Yeah, hang on._ He closed his eyes and massaged his temples. _That was Mrs Turner? Your landlady?_

Sherlock stared at him with a new focus and slowly, deliberately, wrote, _Yes. What is it John?_

_Nothing. Just... she sounded an awful lot like my landlady. Mrs Hudson._

Sherlock frowned.

 _I saw that name on your contract and asked Mrs Turner about it_ , he wrote. _She didn’t seem to know you. Just talked about Mrs Hudson’s “married ones”, like that’s supposed to be an achievement._

John bit his lip. Mike said they were both placed at Baker Street deliberately and the flat was surprisingly cheap for this part of the city. He assumed it was because Mrs Hudson took pity on him but maybe there was something more to it.

“Oh,” Sherlock breathed. He didn’t need John to help him join the dots. Then he typed, _You think they’re the same person._

_Well, maybe. Maybe they’re just named differently in different universes._

_That never happened before_ , Sherlock wrote. Which was true enough. Sherlock insisted on a couple of experiments. Or a couple dozen. _Why would Mrs Turner talk about Mrs Hudson if she didn’t exist? Unless it’s deliberate, of course. I’m sending you a photo._

John waited anxiously for his computer to process the picture and stifled a gasp when he finally saw it.

 _Yeah_ , he wrote. _That’s Mrs Hudson._ He hesitated. _Sherlock, do you think she might be the link?_

_Not enough data. But we’ll observe her from both ends and see how it adds up, shall we?_

John nodded and disconnected the call before Mrs Turner (or Mrs Hudson, who the hell knew?) could see him.

 

~*~

 

They started monitoring their landladies’ activity to establish a pattern of behaviour. Or at least that was what Sherlock said they were doing. To John it looked more like spying. He refused to feel too bad about it though. He wanted to finally meet Sherlock in person and if that meant observing Mrs Hudson while she was grocery shopping, so be it.

They quickly established that whenever Mrs Turner wasn’t in her flat on Sherlock’s side, Mrs Hudson appeared in hers on John’s. Their stays never overlapped.

“We can get to the bottom of this, John!” Sherlock said and sent him an excited grin.

“Shouldn’t we be more careful though?” John asked. “Mike said not to get involved.”

“Then we’ll have to be careful! Don’t you want to meet?”

“I do. I really do. It’s just... if he can keep us apart—”

“It’s been happening _naturally_ for a long time now,” Sherlock interrupted with a wince. “The stain on your wall is clearly the smiley face I painted. I have books that I didn’t bring here and only yesterday I finally found your blog. You should really start posting.”

“You found my blog?” Sherlock nodded. “But it wasn’t there when you looked.”

“Like I said, it’s happening.”

 

~*~

 

John googled _The Science of Deduction_ again. It was there, first position, proudly presenting an analysis of tobacco ash.

John grinned.

 

~*~

 

It was a long day at the clinic. His shoulder hurt all the time and John felt like he examined half of the city’s population. It seemed so long since he’d been barking orders, making do with whatever he could use, high on adrenaline, holding people’s lives in his hands.

At least he was sent home early when the pain in his shoulder became a serious problem. He hoped Sherlock had a better day so he could distract John with talking about an experiment or a case.

John opened the front door to the building and froze with his keys in one hand. The door to 221C was left ajar and it was always, _always_ closed. He felt an excited buzzing in his veins. It could be nothing. Maybe someone finally moved into that basement flat (though surely Mrs Hudson would have let him know). Maybe it was time for some tidying up (though there wasn’t much she could do).

“Mrs Hudson?” John called, creeping slowly towards the door. His fingers itched for the gun hidden in his bedside table. “Hello?”

There was no answer, so John took the closest thing he could use as a weapon (an umbrella) and let himself into the flat.

He blinked several times and let his eyes adjust to the dimness of it. The few windows let in just enough evening light to make it possible for John to manoeuvre.

He went to the next room, making as little noise as possible, but found nothing suspicious. The flat didn’t have many hiding spots. John was about to go back when he noticed another door with a line of light beneath it. He frowned. Another room wouldn’t make sense. There simply wasn’t enough space for it to fit.

John slowly opened the door and blinked several times to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. But no, the entry hall and the seventeen steps leading to his flat were just the same. Did he make a circle somehow?

He started up the stairs, carefully avoiding the creaking ones. The door to the flat was open and there was a man curled on the sofa with his back to John, blue dressing gown hugging him like a blanket.

“She— Sherlock?” John called nervously and the man tensed. Then he slowly rolled over and his eyes widened.

“John,” he said, drinking in every detail.

“I— I think I found out how Mrs Hudson’s been coming here,” John said and dropped the umbrella. He prepared himself for a sarcastic retort (‘obviously, John, how else would you be here?’) but Sherlock merely stared at him. A lot. “I... um, maybe I should... go.”

“No!” Sherlock protested and jumped over the coffee table to stand in front of John. “You found it,” he said with wonder.

John grinned and before he could stop himself, he gripped Sherlock’s shoulder to make sure this was real.

They both jumped away at the sudden current that surged through them.

“What _was_ that?” John breathed, his fingers still tingling.

“I don’t know,” Sherlock said and held out his hand. “Do it again?"

John looked at him incredulously but in the end he couldn’t resist. He took the offered hand and held. 

He felt it at once. A heady current that originated somewhere deep in his body, going from his hand to Sherlock’s and back. It was making his blood sing and his nerves quiver in excitement. He could see the answering thrill in Sherlock’s eyes.

It went on for what felt like years but ended too quickly nonetheless. The memory of it though, it would stay with him forever.

“Wow,” John breathed. “I guess it confirms what Mike to—”

The rest of what he wanted to say was swallowed by Sherlock’s mouth crashing hungrily with his own. John wasted no time in reciprocating. His lips tingled and his skin burned where Sherlock’s hands touched him.

When they broke apart, breathless, John grinned.

“You need to go,” Sherlock told him and John’s heart sank.

“What? But—”

“Mrs Turner went grocery shopping,” Sherlock said quickly. “It normally takes her up to forty minutes and it’s already been half an hour. She will be here soon. I’m still not sure if what we just did was allowed just yet and if they take you back—”

“It’s fine, Sherlock.” John smiled at him and gave him a quick kiss. Now that he knew Sherlock didn’t want to get rid of him for good, he was okay with waiting a bit longer. “It’s all fine. Come visit when it’s safe, just through 221C."

Sherlock nodded and kissed him again, as reluctant to let go as John.

“I should go,” John whispered and turned to leave when something caught his eye. “Um... Sherlock?”

“Mmm?”

“That’s my laptop,” John said. “On the coffee table, do you see?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said. Something like fragile hope hung in the air between them.

“Only one way to find out,” John said and they began searching for his things in the flat. It was all there. His clothes, his books, his favourite mug. And the passage to another universe in 221C disappeared.

“Why did my clothes end up upstairs?” John asked when they sat next to each other on the sofa, waiting for their landlady to return.

“Obvious,” Sherlock said. “The other bedroom was already occupied.”

John grunted.

“You should have come to my universe then. I really liked that bed.

Sherlock cleared his throat and refused to look John in the eye.

“You could— I mean, you could still sleep in it. With me. If you want.”

John grinned at him again and stole another kiss which quickly dissolved into a giggle against Sherlock’s lips.

“What?” Sherlock asked, perplexed and a bit hurt.

“Nothing. I just thought... If Mrs Hudson is Mrs Turner, then we are the married ones.”

Sherlock looked at him with a stricken expression that made John dissolve into giggles once again.

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cover Art for 'A Different Kind of Complication' by Atisenia](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6571819) by [missmuffin221](https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmuffin221/pseuds/missmuffin221)




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